


Colors

by Shazrolane



Series: Art as Therapy (formerly Art Therapy) [1]
Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Art, Gen, How do you reach someone who has no experiences or background, M/M, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Read this as gen or slash, Steve will never give up on his friend, art as therapy, it's up to you, this is not a cute and fluffy fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-16
Updated: 2014-07-16
Packaged: 2018-02-09 01:48:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1964343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shazrolane/pseuds/Shazrolane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The man shows him a new picture. A large blond man was huddled in the center of the paper, his face hidden in his hands. Surrounding him were pictures of another man with brown hair. Underneath were the words I have nightmares, too.</p><p> </p><p>The Soldier doesn’t know how to draw 'safe', so he draws 'hurt'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Colors

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Circling Back](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1467004) by [chaya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaya/pseuds/chaya). 



> Note: This is NOT meant to represent actual art therapy, which involves trained individuals using art to help others to deal with problems/trauma/illness etc. No one in this story is trained in this type of therapy and this is NOT an accurate representation. Instead, art is used to open lines of communication to someone who is no longer verbal.

The first day, he turns the paper over and over.

For quite some time afterwards, he ignores the paper.

One day, he takes up a dark blue crayon and writes, clumsily, я не знаю I don’t understand.

The next day, the man _I’m your friend_ sits outside the clear wall that he couldn’t break. He uses a pencil to make short, quick lines and long, slow lines on the paper. When he is finished, he holds the paper up to the clear wall. On the paper is a picture of two men, with their arms around each other’s shoulders. He doesn’t understand why they were holding each other, though. Both are smiling, so it didn’t seem likely that one was wounded.

The next day he tries to draw the same picture, but he can’t make the lines work. When the man _I’m your friend_ comes to observe him, he assumes the kneeling position that he has learned will allow him to best endure the coming punishment. 

_I’m your friend_ fastens the picture to the outside of the clear wall instead.

He spends the rest of the day staring at the picture, trying to understand the tactical significance. That night, strange memories interrupt his sleep. A small man drawing, laughing, coughing. Himself, moving as if he was in combat, but he never hit the people around him. When he wakes, he shoves the memories down deep, and kept them secret. When you tell them about memories, they hurt you and take the memories. 

He tries to finish the assignment that had been given to him, but each day he fails. Each day he waits for his punishment. _I’m your friend_ still does not punish him.

One night is bad. Every time he closes his eyes he dreams of the machine that takes his memories. He grabs the day’s paper (they were left under his door every evening), and pulls it and the crayons underneath the blanket they had given him (even though he still fails at his assignments). Under the concealment, he copies down as many memories as he could. A woman in a blue dress. A man with brown hair and big hands. A small girl with a ball. A man with a hat. A circle of red and white with a white star in the middle. 

When he’s finished, he stares at it. He knows he won’t be allowed to keep it. He has nowhere to hide it, nowhere to put it where it can’t be found and used against him. 

He tears the paper into tiny pieces and eats them. The wax makes him sick.

That morning, there is another empty sheet of paper waiting for him.

There is another night where the memories keep him awake. This time, he draws yellow electricity and red pain and an open mouth screaming, and the black of forgetting. He thinks they will be pleased that he remembers the pain. It is the only memory he’s ever been allowed to keep. 

He gives the paper to _I’m your friend_ , whose lips thin and press together. It isn’t anger, but it isn’t the pleased face his handlers usually make when he understands. _I’m your friend_ tapes it to the wall, on the other side of the door from where the picture of the two men is.

He is given another piece of paper. He tries once again to copy the correct picture. He fails again. Before he leaves, _I’m your friend_ shows him a new picture. A large blond man was huddled in the center of the paper, his face hidden in his hands. Surrounding him were pictures of another man with brown hair. Underneath were the words I have nightmares, too.

The next day, he is confused which picture is the correct one. He knows better than to ask; this is a test. He eventually sits in front of the new picture and tries to get it right.

The next day, _I’m your friend_ does not come. He is finally being punished for his failure.

He is relieved. This is something he understands. He spends all day kneeling, accepting the punishment. 

When _I’m your friend_ comes back, he is wounded. He frowns through the clear wall; perhaps kneeling was not a sufficient punishment. He slides a piece of paper under the door.

Joints protest movement after so long, frozen in one position. He is careful to mimic his usual grace as closely as possible; his handlers don’t like for him to unable to perform his duties. When he sits down in his usual position, there is a new paper taped underneath the one he drew. It says Draw your own picture, whatever you want.

Another test. He doesn’t like it when he doesn’t understand the rules of the tests. Failing to please his handlers results in pain. He doesn’t like being set up for pain.

He has a moment of rebellion. If he’s going to be punished no matter what he does, he might as well earn it. He draws red and orange and green anger and shoves it under the door, then retreats to the middle of the room, breathing fast. _I’m your friend_ tapes it to the wall and smiles at him before leaving.

He is not punished. That night, there is cake with his evening ration.

He draws confusion, which is swirls of green and purple on a grey background.

He draws fear, which is grey pushing from the borders of the paper, and the red and blue of courage pushing back from the center.

He draws forgetting, which is every color spread across the paper, written over in black. After he draws this one, he retreats into a corner and hides his face behind his knees and arms, and mutters all of his memories to himself. He hasn’t done that for a long time, because it was one of his behaviors that was punished the most. 

_your friend_ doesn’t punish him. _your friend_ stays late, talking quietly. He leaves a sign that says You are SAFE.

He gets cookies that night.

He doesn’t know how to draw safe, so he draws hurt.

He draws combat.

He draws training. That leads him to draw another anger. He has to ask for another sheet of paper for that. He doesn’t use words; the act of asking is difficult enough. The thought of forcing himself to use words that weren’t asked for makes him almost give up, so he turns over the paper he used for training, and points at it, and waits by the door. _friend_ gives him another sheet of paper. He remembers how they trained him never to ask for things. That makes it easy to draw the anger.

He draws punishment. He can’t finish the page.

The next day, he sits with his back against the corner and doesn’t draw anything.

He is not punished.

He doesn’t know how to draw not punished. He spends the entire time staring at the paper, and picking up different crayons. When _friend_ leaves, the paper is still empty.

He is not punished. 

He decides that not punished is filling the entire sheet with green like leaves on trees. Once, after he had finished a mission, he spent some time watching the wind make the leaves move before returning to the concrete and metal of his confinement. No one else had been sent with him on the mission, so no one knew that he had spent extra time that wasn’t needed. 

He tries to draw disobey. He spends another day in the corner. _friend_ brings him a slice of pie

He tries to draw delicious. It ends up being purple, and it makes him smile. _friend_ smiles back at him.

He draws _friend_. It takes him all night, and staring at the first picture that _friend_ drew, but in the morning, he pushes it under the door. _friend_ posts it on the wall.

He dreams that night, of walking through a city with a smaller man next to him, of laughing. 

He draws memory. It makes him cry. He doesn’t retreat to the corner. _friend_ stays with him.

The next day, he asks for two sheets of paper. On one, he writes _Steve_.

 _Steve_ breaks down crying. While Steve cries, he draws hope.

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by Circling Back, by Chaya. The feelings that story gave me just sunk in and wouldn't let go. The next morning, my little one woke up and immediately wanted to draw with me, so we grabbed crayons and drew and made stories. Later that evening, this story was written.
> 
> Note: now part of a series so I could post his drawings. Part 2 of the series is just pictures, no story. 
> 
> Come visit me on [tumblr!](http://shazrolane.tumblr.com/)


End file.
